Misconceptions
by Gracielinn
Summary: FBI Special Agent Lucy Preston prided herself on her finely-honed profiling skills, but when a perilous, bizarre, highly-confidential mission for the NSA pairs her with Stanford University history professor, Dr. Wyatt Logan, she learns that appearances can be quite deceiving...
1. Chapter 1

_A/N #1: I know, I know, it's another W.I.P. from me, but I swear, the idea to switch Wyatt and Lucy's fields of expertise around hit me out of the blue the other day, and I was just so excited at the possibilities (HA) that I had to give this a try..._

Misconceptions

Chapter 1

Wyatt pulled into a vacant parking space in front of his apartment, and turning off the truck ignition, wearily rested his head on the steering wheel for a moment. " _What a long-ass, exhausting day it had been_ ," he thought. Although he was very satisfied with the way his classes had been progressing thus far, he wasn't sure who was doing the scheduling for the History Department at Stanford, because, Jesus, it was only a few weeks into the quarter, and he was over it. There had to be a more efficient use of his teaching time than giving him classes three days a week at 9:00 and 11:00, and then a third one at 6:00. So far, it had been beneficial at times to have that huge unoccupied block of time several days a week for grading tests and essays, but mostly, it was a big pain in the ass. The other two days were slightly better, with 10:00 and 1:00 classes, however, as the tenure-less guy with the least seniority in the department, Wyatt had about zero clout, not to mention the fact that he had been lucky to even land the position with Stanford. But despite the time management "hiccup," Wyatt felt like this was exactly where he was meant to be ( _and God knows the price he'd paid to make this work_ ).

Before her life had been tragically cut short, his mother had taught U.S. History at their small high school in rural west Texas, and from a young age, had instilled in Wyatt a love of, and deep appreciation for, all history, but especially American history. Although she had a bachelors degree in education from a fine university, Caroline Logan had yearned for even more higher education, but once she met and hastily married Wyatt's father, her son's impending arrival a few short months later had put that desire on hold. "Some day, Wyatt," his mom would often say, "Mommy will go back to school," and the small boy would grin and agree, "Yes, Mama." But when Wyatt was twelve, Caroline's dream ended abruptly at the age of 35 when she was killed by a drunk driver. Determined to follow in his mother's footsteps and fulfill her dream, Wyatt worked industriously all though high school and graduated at the top of his class.

However, even with numerous scholarships and a couple of grants, paying for college was a big concern until his Grandpa Sherwin offered a solution, suggesting that Wyatt could enlist in the service and earn money for his education before heading off to university once he was discharged. His grandpa, who had served in the Army overseas during WWII, also admitted that he thought the discipline and structure of military life would be of great value to his only grandchild, and as usual, the older man had been right. Wyatt had thrived in the Army, receiving outstanding evaluations and several commendations. More than once during his six-year stint, he'd even considered a future in the armed forces, especially when he had been approached by one of his C.O.'s about applying for the elite Delta Force unit. But in the end, once he had served his time in the Army, nearly all of it in Syria and Afghanistan, Wyatt had returned home to Texas and enrolled in college, working his ass off to earn his doctorate. He knew he'd been aiming high when he applied at the prestigious university in San Francisco, but intent on building a career on the west coast, Wyatt had left Texas after graduation and never looked back.

Once he got inside, he put his briefcase down on the small table beside the door and shrugged off his leather jacket. Wyatt stood for a moment absently sorting through his mail when the unhappy grumble of his empty stomach reminded him how long it had been since lunch. Sighing, he headed for the kitchen and once he made himself a sandwich and grabbed a beer, slumped down on the sofa to eat his pitiful, solitary dinner, such as it was. Looking around his too-quiet, sparsely-furnished apartment, Wyatt reflected that on days like this (most days, if he were being honest with himself), he really missed Jess.

Sweet and pretty as a picture, his ex-wife had such a fun-loving, bubbly personality. He had met and started dating Jessica in high school, and after waiting patiently for Wyatt while he was in the service, she had agreed to marry him within a month of his discharge, and the young couple had been very happy during the years while Wyatt had been earning his degrees and Jess was employed by the college. When they had first moved to San Francisco nearly a year ago, it had felt like a great adventure to fix up their tiny apartment and explore the city. Unfortunately, it really hadn't helped matters that during the long months he was trying to secure a teaching position, Wyatt had tended bar most evenings and weekends while Jess had worked weekdays for a dental practice, and considering that spending very little time together had been a difficult adjustment itself, apparently the last straw for his brief marriage was finally getting the first interview at Stanford last spring. He had been shocked, hurt and somewhat dismayed when Jess had guiltily confessed that she had only moved with him from Texas because to her, Wyatt actually being offered a teaching job at the university had seemed like such a long-shot, and she was confident they would eventually return home.

He'd felt betrayed and angry, but with the passing of time, came to understand that at heart, his wife was a small-town girl who had suffered tremendously all along from acute homesickness and gradually grew to hate the big city. She hadn't minded living in Lubbock while he attended Texas Tech since her parents and extended family were only a couple hours away, and to be fair, Jess had really tried at first to adjust to living in California. But each day, she grew more quiet and sad, and finally, at the beginning of the summer, when the job offer from Stanford had come through, he had arrived home late one night to a note and her engagement and wedding rings on the kitchen counter. Even though Wyatt sensed she had become desperately unhappy, receiving the dissolution papers in the mail a couple months ago had felt like one last kick in the gut. And he definitely could have done without the (so not) helpful email from one of Jess's sisters informing him that she was already dating one of his high school buddies.

Sandwich devoured, Wyatt pulled himself off the sofa, and drinking down the rest of his now slightly-warm beer, was heading toward the kitchen when there was brisk knock on the door. He set the beer bottle down and peered through the peephole to see a very official-looking shiny badge. Opening the door, he politely inquired, "Can I help you?" The older, gray-haired man in the nondescript black suit flashed his badge and asked, "Dr. Wyatt Logan?" I'm Agent Kondo, Homeland Security, you need to come with me. We have a situation and require your assistance." Wyatt stared at the man in bewilderment before shaking his head tiredly and responding, "Sorry, I'm not interested," but when he went to close the door, the agent's face hardened as he assured Wyatt brusquely, "I'm sorry, but this isn't a request, Dr. Logan." As the agent stared unblinkingly at him for several long seconds, Wyatt shrugged, and scratching the back of his neck, acquiesced with a deep breath. Grabbing his jacket and keys and making sure he had his phone, Wyatt locked his door and followed the taciturn agent to an over-sized black SUV.

Special Agent Lucy Preston jumped when her phone rang suddenly, the jarring sound echoing around the nearly deserted bullpen of the San Francisco FBI field office. Glancing around as she picked up the shrilly-ringing device, she was more than a little amazed to realize how late it had gotten. Thumbing her phone, she answered crisply, "Special Agent Preston," and frowning slightly at the caller's message, replied, "Understood. Be there in fifteen minutes," before ending the call. " _What kind of terrorist situation could be taking place at Mason Industries?_ " she wondered as she rapidly powered off her laptop, and pulling her navy blazer from the back of her chair, slung the computer bag over her shoulder, and snagging her keys from the top of the desk, made her way to the elevator and the parking garage.

Flashing her badge at the front gate of the sprawling, brightly-lit facility, and after parking her bureau-issue sedan, Lucy was directed to a small, empty waiting room. Sitting erectly on the edge of a leather sofa, she pulled out her phone and googled Mason Industries. Just minutes later, she glanced up as the door opened and a deep voice protested, "Hey, can someone at least tell me what's going on?" and Lucy smirked inwardly at the dark-haired guy's obvious frustration ( _Join the club, pal_ ). Judging by his neatly-pressed khakis, open-necked white button down, and brown leather jacket, he was definitely a civilian, she mused, and then he turned around, and Lucy's breath caught. Working for the Bureau, she was surrounded by all different kinds of men, day in and day out, but this guy was just flat-out gorgeous. Around her age, if she had to guess, tall, well-built, with angry dark blue eyes, and my God, were those dimples?

Pretending to be engrossed in her phone screen, Lucy struggled to hang on to her composure as the stranger finally seemed to notice her. "Excuse me, Ma'am, do you know why we're here?" and his dark brows drew together when she responded "No" without looking up from her phone. Glancing around the room, his gaze fell on the Mason Industries emblazoned on one wall, and turning back to Lucy, asked, "This is Connor Mason's company? Are you sure you have no idea why we were summoned here, Ma'am?" Lucy finally looked up, an impatient look gracing her face as she answered indifferently, "No, I'm afraid I don't have any idea, and since we're pretty much the same age, you can stop calling me Ma'am," and fought to keep from blushing at his dimpled grin ( _Good Lord, that smile alone should be registered as a lethal weapon_ ).

Apparently, she had amused the man, and just as Lucy looked back down at her phone in a futile attempt to remain calm, without warning, the door opened. Both she and the stranger stood as an older, dark-haired woman entered, and stepping over to Lucy first, introduced herself, "Special Agent Lucy Preston, thank you for getting here so quickly. I'm afraid we are in dire need of your reputed profiling skills this evening. I'm Agent Denise Christopher, Homeland Security," and turning to the man, "Dr. Wyatt Logan, Assistant Professor of U.S. History, Stanford University, with special emphasis on military and diplomatic history. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. Now, we are on the clock, so if you will both follow me, and, oh, yes, hold on to your asses," and with that cryptic remark, quickly left the room.

As he watched the slim brunette brush past him and hurry after the Homeland Security agent, Wyatt felt like maybe he had somehow stumbled into an alternate reality. What in the hell did they want from him? He was just a newly-hired college professor from Texas for God's sake, although he was an Army vet, and therefore, not a complete snowflake. And, damn, this (FBI? NSA?) Agent Preston might be attractive, but her tightly-wound attitude was anything but. When Agent Kondo has first shown him into the lounge, Wyatt had immediately noticed the young woman. Even as she had pretended to ignore him, he heard her quick inhale when he spoke to her. Wyatt should have know she was a "fibbie" though, her whole appearance damn near shouted it. Severe navy jacket and pants, white button down shirt, and sensible shoes were practically considered standard uniform for female feds, although he had to admit, her discreet makeup and tightly pulled back dark hair only seemed to enhance her big doe eyes and pretty features.

He wondered idly if her shoulder ached at the end of the day from carrying around that big chip sitting on it. To give her credit however, from his stint in the service, Wyatt was well aware that, unfair or not, women did have to work much harder than their male counterparts in certain guy-dominated fields. And did he hear Agent Christopher refer to the woman's profiling abilities? What the hell was going on at Mason Industries? Wyatt decided to give this whole thing a few more minutes of his time before he called a cab and went home, and in a few long strides (and no, he absolutely wasn't admiring the enticing sway of Agent Preston's backside), caught up with the two women as they entered a conference room where a bald black man in very expensive clothing, who turned out to be Connor Mason himself, was waiting on them.

Agent Christopher performed brief introductions, and then she and the millionaire businessman began to explain the alarming series of events leading up to this moment and the proposed mission to New Jersey, May 6, 1937. Wyatt immediately comprehended that they were talking about the place and date that the ill-fated airship, the Hindenburg, burst into flames as it was trying to dock, killing 36 people. After learning what they wanted (actually expected) from him and Agent Preston, Wyatt had heard enough, and standing suddenly, politely excused himself and made his way down the long hallway and outside. He had reached the front gate and was preparing to call for a cab when he heard Agent Christopher behind him, "Dr. Logan, please, we need your help. I would think someone who's sworn to preserve history would want to protect it," and after contemplating what the older woman had to say, it wasn't her words that finally convinced Wyatt to ignore his instincts and accompany the stoic agent back inside; it was the trace of uncertainty in her voice that she tried to hide.

A mildly concerned Lucy watched in silence as the handsome professor abruptly stood and left the meeting, quickly followed by a worried-looking Agent Christopher. While she absolutely understood Dr. Logan's initial gut reaction, it seemed there was a job to be done, and too much time had already passed since this terrorist, an ex-NSA operative named Garcia Flynn, had hijacked? stolen? an honest-to-God time machine (of all things). Carefully setting her emotions aside, Lucy gave her full attention to the file in front of her. As an agent with the FBI's "Behavioral Analysis Unit 1" (BAU), a division of the Bureau's National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime (NCAVC), it was her job to deal with all matters relating to counter terrorism that occurred on U.S. soil ( _present_ _and_ _past?_ ).

Lucy had gone into law enforcement like her now-deceased father before her, and after earning a masters degree in criminal justice, was accepted to the FBI Academy right out of college, and during her time at Quantico, developed an interest in profiling. She had been one of only a handful of female agents to pursue a spot in the BAU in the whole state, and considered herself fortunate as a native of San Francisco, to have eventually been assigned to the city's field office five years ago. Privately, she could admit to herself that her job was extremely stressful at times, but Lucy worked diligently to hone her profiling skills as she steadily built her career, and if her instincts were correct (and they usually were), this whole "time travel terrorism" case, outlandish and bizarre as it seemed, had all the ingredients to become the biggest case of her career with the Bureau. Deciding to worry about Dr. "Sexy History Professor" later, Lucy devoted the next few minutes to intently studying the meager file on Garcia Flynn.

Wyatt walked into the men's locker room that Agent Christopher directed him to and sank slowly onto a bench. He sat with his head in his hands for a long moment, trying to process everything. Coming to a decision, he stood and noticed an old-style men's three-piece suit hanging from a locker near him, complete with shirt, tie, shoes, and even a nice hat. " _Why not?_ " he thought. His country evidently needed him, and besides, just the concept of actual, for real, no kidding, time travel intrigued the historian in him. The Homeland Security agent was right, Wyatt realized, he did feel an obligation to help preserve the nation's history from this terrorist Flynn. Rubbing a hand over the stubble on his chin, he grimaced, and wished he could shave before the proposed "jump" into the past. Swiftly donning the costume, Wyatt hurried back to the conference room to finish the pre-mission briefing.

The pretty but prickly Agent Preston was missing, presumably changing her clothes as well. He was faintly surprised when Agent Christopher handed him a service weapon, explaining that while his primary responsibility was serving as mission historian, as a combat-experienced Army veteran, he would also be considered Agent Preston's security backup. As an FBI Special Agent, Lucy Preston had of course received extensive weapons training at the Academy; however, for the past five years, her position in the San Francisco field office was focused mainly on profiling, not necessarily field work. At Wyatt's vaguely skeptical glance, Agent Christopher assured him that Agent Preston was re-certified every six months and consistently scored very high in marksmanship. Somewhat mollified, Wyatt accepted the firearm and holster, and removing his suit jacket, eased the holster over his shoulders and put the jacket back on before picking up the hat and following the agent out of the conference room and down the steps to the platform (launch bay?).

Lucy's nerves were stretched pretty thin by the time she had dressed in the ill-fitting blouse, skirt, and unbelievably itchy wool plaid coat that someone had managed to find for her to wear, and was trying to repress the urge to pace back and forth across the platform as she waited for Dr. Logan to finish changing into his costume. It certainly hadn't helped when Agent Christopher had returned to the conference room and reported that the professor had changed his mind and agreed to participate in the mission, and furthermore, she was planning to loan Dr. Logan one of her service weapons. Her eyebrows had shot clear up into her hairline, but before she could offer any kind of protest, Agent Christopher had fixed a steely glance on her and solemnly informed them that not only was Dr. Logan an Army veteran, but that he had served over five years in war-torn Syria and Afghanistan, and actually had more experience with guns than Lucy had. Chastened, Lucy had fled to the women's locker room with the few remaining scraps of dignity she had left to get dressed.

She was ready and (visibly) impatiently waiting on him, and as he finally stood in front of her, Wyatt was taken aback at her appearance. Not her costume, which unlike his suit, looked haphazardly thrown together, but at how young and attractive she appeared with her shiny dark hair down and waving around her face and wearing more makeup than she had been. He decided that Agent Preston was quite good-looking, save for the worried frown she was currently directing his way. "I've been informed that you are armed, and I want to make certain you understand your place on this team as historian. I am in charge of strategy and security. Are we clear?" as she gazed up at him with expectant dark eyes. "Yes, ma'am," he drawled, letting a tiny bit of Texas twang slip into his reply, and Wyatt was quite amused by the look of annoyance on her expressive face she tried to hide at his flippant, probably perceived as insincere, response ( _I bet she's a terrible poker player_ ). The agent huffed her displeasure, and brusquely said, "Let's go, then, Dr. Logan," and he obediently followed her down the steps to the hulking, round silver time machine or "lifeboat" as Connor Mason fondly referred to it.

When Wyatt politely gestured for the agent to board first, she sniffed audibly, and as she was climbing up the step, her foot slipped and he instinctively caught her around a very trim waist to steady her. "Oh," she gasped in dismay, and he tried, rather unsuccessfully, not to notice how her slender body felt in his arms or how good her hair smelled ( _Damn, it has been too long since he held a woman_ ). "You can let go now, Dr. Logan," she hissed when Wyatt took a little longer than necessary to release her. "Sorry, ma'am, just trying to help," he offered, and grinned when the agent snapped, "And stop calling me Ma'am," much to his delight. " _This might be a lot more interesting than I expected_ ," Wyatt mused, as Lucy Preston's shapely rear disappeared through the open hatch.

He nimbly climbed in after her, and settled himself across from the woman in the third seat. Wyatt easily buckled the safety harness, and watched in amused silence as she tried and failed several times to fasten hers before taking pity on her and leaning over, rapidly snapped everything into place. It was quite cramped inside, and the dizzying array of flashing lights surrounding them was almost blinding. A black man around his age was seated to his immediate right, busy flipping switches and pushing numerous buttons. "I'm Wyatt Logan," he offered, and the man hastily turned and looking over his shoulder, grinned, "Nice to meet you, Wyatt, I'm Rufus, Rufus Carlin, the pilot of this bucket of bolts, kind of," and shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly at Agent Preston's faintly panicked, "I'm Lucy Preston. Um, kind of? Rufus, what does that mean, exactly?" The pilot rubbed a hand across his forehead, and confessed, "Well, I've only trained on the simulator, never actually made the jump through time," and Wyatt seriously felt kind of bad when Lucy swallowed thickly as her face turned a rather pale milky white.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked her, and when her nervous, wide-eyed gaze swung to him, Wyatt could see that the (up to now) no-nonsense FBI agent looked scared stiff. Closing her eyes briefly, she admitted, "I'm extremely claustrophobic," and when Rufus murmured, "And here we go," before selecting one final button, Wyatt impulsively reached across and took her small, cold hand in his as the world around them shuddered and jerked for seemingly endless moments before landing with a bone-jarring, teeth-rattling thud. Afraid to open his eyes, Wyatt breathed deeply through his nose to keep from emptying his guts in his lap. Lucy's hand flexed with a jerk in his, and he cautiously opened one eye to see that the agent had leaned toward Wyatt as far as she could and like him, was breathing as deeply as possible.

"Rufus," Wyatt croaked, "Hurry up and open the hatch before I lose the contents of my stomach all over the place," and he swore the pilot might have chuckled before smacking a button and the hatch slowly slid open. He managed to reach for Lucy's harness and unbuckle it before tugging her to her feet so she could exit first. She clumsily slid a little before finding her footing and jumping to the ground, just before Rufus pushed past him and also jumped down. Wyatt got to his feet and swayed precariously before he slowly inched over to the open hatch and looked out. Oddly enough, although it had been late at night when they "jumped" from 2016 San Francisco, it was broad daylight here, where ( _when_ ) ever they were.

"Are we there?" he stammered as he slid rather gracelessly down the side of the lifeboat, and bending over at the waist, was trying desperately not to gag, when Lucy answered, "I think so," and Wyatt followed her gaze upwards to see the impossible sight of an enormous silver bullet-shaped airship almost noiselessly floating serenely past. My God, it _was_ the Hindenburg. They had done it. Gone back in time nearly 80 years. And as Wyatt's stomach slowly, painfully began to settle, his nausea was rapidly being replaced by an almost childish anticipation for what they would encounter. Suddenly, no matter what happened in the next hours, he was very glad he had agreed to be a part of this crazy mission. What was happening right this very minute was the opportunity of a lifetime for anyone, but for a historian, it was sure to be an extraordinary experience, and in addition to hopefully serving his country and saving the past and future, Wyatt fully intended to savor every moment.

 _A/N: Oops! Just a little bit of a cliffhanger, 'cause I wanted to devote more time to finishing their first mission. At this point, I feel like this premise has the potential to go all of Season One (as long as I have the time, LOL). Hope you all enjoy this little experiment. Heartfelt thanks, as always, for everyone who follows and favorites my stuff, most especially anyone who's able to take the time to leave a review. You are awesome people :))_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N #1: Sorry for the slight delay in posting this new chapter. RL kind of kicked my bum last week, but thankfully, things are already looking up..._

Chapter 2

Wyatt tried to pay attention to Lucy's earnest, last-minute mission prep as they walked along the road to Tom's River, which luckily was only a few miles from the Lakehurst Naval Station, he really did. His mind buzzed with a million thoughts as he attempted to absorb the fact that he, Lucy, and Rufus had actually "jumped" from 2016 back through time nearly 80 years. It was crazy. It was impossible. But, as he inhaled deeply of the fresh air in 1937 New Jersey, Wyatt experienced such awe and wonder, he could barely keep from laughing out loud. His musings were cut short by the low rumble of an approaching bus, and he bit back a grin at Rufus' fervent "Thank God" when Wyatt hailed the bus, fishing around in his pants pocket for some of the coins Connor Mason had hastily pressed into his hand right before they departed. He and Lucy looked at each other in consternation though, when the driver loudly insisted that "coloreds" rode in the back of the bus. It was one thing to know this type of blatant ugly racism existed and was extremely commonplace years ago, another thing altogether to actually witness it first hand. Although he was sure that Rufus was offended and upset by the incident, the pilot's only response after the bus dropped them off in town was a sarcastic observation about the view from the back of the bus.

Clutching the piece of paper recovered from one of Flynn's associates left for dead at Mason after the mothership had taken off, Lucy asked the man at the news stand where Wyatt bought a daily newspaper if he knew where the tavern written on the scrap was located, and was relieved to find it was only a few blocks farther down the street. Wyatt's footsteps dragged as his fascinated eyes darted everywhere, trying to take in all the sights, sounds, and even smells of a time now only known from words and pictures in a book or on a website. "C'mon, Professor," Lucy gently scolded, "We have to hurry," and Wyatt thought he saw a glimmer of understanding in her big dark eyes of what he was experiencing. They finally located the tavern, and while a visibly uneasy Rufus waited for them outside, he and Lucy entered the crowded establishment and began discreetly showing the picture of Garcia Flynn around to the bartender and several patrons in the hope that someone had seen him.

Wyatt caught a glimpse of blonde hair out of the corner of his eye just as he heard a peal of feminine laughter coming from a corner of the room. Following his interested gaze, Lucy asked, "Wonder who she is?" and seemed slightly annoyed when Wyatt answered without taking his eyes off the woman, "I think that's Kate Drummond. In the 30's, she was a famous journalist who wrote articles from around the world," and he scarcely heard Lucy's vaguely indignant huff when he unerringly made his way over to the reporter. As he was awkwardly making small talk with the very attractive blonde ( _Jesus, it had been too long since he tried to approach a woman in a bar_ ), Lucy quietly popped up at his side, and gestured impatiently at the picture in his hand as she wordlessly urged Wyatt to show Miss Drummond the picture of Flynn. He and Lucy looked at each other in relief when the other woman confirmed she had in fact seen Flynn in the tavern just a couple of hours ago, before casually uttering, "He's one of the men bringing down the Hindenburg." At the reporter's eerily (likely) prophetic words, Lucy grasped Wyatt's arm, and once outside, with Rufus in tow, the team hurried to find a cab to the airfield.

Upon their arrival at the naval station, Lucy determined that they should split up in the hopes of locating Flynn faster, and her two teammates obediently took off in different directions. Frustrated at having so little intel to work with, her mind raced as she unsuccessfully tried to figure out what Garcia Flynn's objective was. At the loud, swelling roar from the crowd surrounding her, Lucy looked up to see the impossibly large, sleek aircraft descend and land gracefully, and she watched in dismayed fascination as smiling, very much _alive_ passengers began to disembark. So engrossed in what was unfolding in front of her very eyes, Lucy started at Wyatt's gentle touch on her elbow, and shivered when he breathed near her ear, "Lucy, this isn't what should be happening," and when she turned her face to his, she was aware of the concerned uncertainty reflected in his dark blue eyes so close to hers.

Lucy barely heard Rufus ask worriedly, "Wyatt, what's going to happen how?" when, at a subtle nudge from the professor, she quickly decided the team needed to regroup, and suggested they retreat to a nearby empty hangar. While discussing the potential ramifications of the Hindenburg's safe arrival, Lucy asked Wyatt about the possible historical significance of the airship's flight back to Europe, and his face brightened as he pulled the local newspaper from his jacket pocket, and after scanning the list of dignitaries who would soon be boarding the famous airship, Wyatt came up with a very plausible scenario. His face reddened faintly at Lucy's praise as they smiled at each other before Rufus cleared his throat rather loudly.

Unfortunately, without warning, one of Flynn's thugs entered the hangar and got the drop on Lucy, and after a brief scuffle, she was forced to kill him, much to Wyatt's chagrin. "Lucy, I know we are both armed, but I have to remind you what Agent Christopher said about not changing anything in the past," and as she gazed into his solemn blue eyes, Lucy nearly forgot her own name ( _My God, Preston, you need to get your act together_ ) and forcefully shaking her head, she summarily dismissed his concerns, only to bitterly regret it less than an hour later when local police officers burst into the hangar and arrested the team. When Lucy dared ask the deputy who roughly grabbed her arm if someone had tipped off the police to their presence in the hangar, she thought she heard a low growl from Wyatt when the officer tightened his grip on her upper arm painfully.

After the police had none-too-gently confiscated their guns, they were unceremoniously thrust into two cells (oddly enough, she and Wyatt were put in the same cell). Lucy sat dejectedly on the lower bunk in the corner and tried to think of a way out before the Hindenburg departed for England. She glanced over at Wyatt, who was sitting on the crude wooden bench along the wall beside the beds, and impulsively asked, "So, do you have a thing for blondes or something, because you seemed a little distracted by Kate Drummond," and of course, he quickly denied any such thing. But when Lucy continued to stare impassively at him, Wyatt ducked his head and muttered, "She reminds me of my wife," and Lucy was taken aback by how his grudging admission stung just a little. Why should she care? He was very good-looking, sure, but just a colleague, a teammate who she had only met yesterday, for heaven's sake.

"I didn't know you were married," tumbled unwillingly from her lips as he glanced briefly at her and shrugged uncomfortably, "I'm not anymore," and Lucy felt like a first-class bitch when he held up his ringless left hand that still bore the pale, tell-tale marks of having worn a wedding band recently for several years at least. When she attempted to apologize, Wyatt just lifted one shoulder casually, but Lucy saw the fresh pain in his eyes, and she put her hand on his and leaning closer to him, murmured, "Wyatt, I'm very sorry for prying, it's none of my business," and felt somewhat better when he gently squeezed her hand and said lightly, "Apology accepted, Agent," and his shy, dimpled smile warmed her heart.

As they continued to look at each other, Rufus, who had been anxiously pacing his solitary cell, interrupted, "Um, hey, guys, so what's the plan? We really need to get out of here very soon, and not just for, you know, the whole 'I'm a black man in 1937' deal," and Lucy was upset at herself for getting distracted from their mission by dark blue eyes and a set of bashful dimples. Glancing at Wyatt, who had stood up and was now standing by the cell door, Lucy had an idea, and moving over beside him, asked in an undertone if he knew how to pick a lock. "Sure, do you have a hairpin, by any chance?" he answered hopefully, and his face fell slightly when Lucy shook her head, but added that she might have something else that could work. At his quizzical expression, Lucy put her lips to his ear and whispered that she was wearing a modern _underwire_ bra, and felt her face warm when his intent gaze involuntarily dropped to her chest.

"We need to divert the deputy long enough for you to get that bra off, Lucy," Wyatt responded, and she was almost disappointed when he instantly straightened up and looking over at the adjoining cell, silently instructed a hesitant Rufus to make a distraction. The pilot's tentative first attempt went nowhere fast, but as she and a wide-eyed Wyatt watched in amazement, Rufus stiffened his spine and tore the dumbfounded policeman a new one. When the young deputy grinned maliciously at the pilot and scurried from the room, Lucy darted for the corner of their cell by the beds and hurriedly removed her blouse, and as she started to pull the thin bra straps off her shoulders, she glanced back and saw that Wyatt was staring at her with more than vague interest flickering in his eyes. Lucy inhaled sharply as she turned back around, and clutching the blouse to her bare chest, tossed the bra over to Wyatt, who caught it deftly, and she trembled as he rapidly tore at the bra with strong, white teeth.

Embarrassed that Lucy had caught him looking at her pale, smooth back, Wyatt concentrated on getting to the underwire in the bra, resolutely ignoring the faint warmth and delicate scent of the undergarment ( _C'mon, Professor Logan, focus_ ). Finally, he had worked a tiny hole big enough to remove the underwire, and swiftly throwing Lucy's bra back to her, Wyatt reached long arms around and began working the cell door lock. He could hear the soft rustle of Lucy hastily getting dressed as the ominous thud of heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway outside the door. The next few minutes were a blur as he, and surprisingly, Rufus, handily dispatched the two policemen while Lucy quickly retrieved their weapons from the desk.

Wyatt felt a strange, unfamiliar warmth in his chest at her breathless, "That was amazing," and in an attempt to ignore the feeling, responded, "Lucy, we have to get on board and find Flynn before the Hindenburg gets airborne," as the trio ran for the landing site. He was gratified when Lucy immediately agreed, and she and Rufus followed him. Once aboard, they crept down an empty corridor, only to run into Kate Drummond, who nearly got them recaptured before they convinced her they were the good guys. When Kate mentioned she had seen Flynn coming from the direction of the galley, they decided to start there. As they were searching, Lucy was clearly distressed when an alert Rufus realized the ship was now airborne, and the team frantically redoubled their efforts. A few tense moments later, Wyatt discovered a bomb under one of the counters, and once he assured Lucy he could disarm it, she and Rufus took off for the cockpit to try and force the crew to land the ship.

" _Please don't make me a liar_ ," Wyatt prayed, swallowing down his fear as he examined the bomb's somewhat intricate timing mechanism while Kate looked on nervously. "Talk to me," he suggested to her suddenly, "It calms my nerves," and felt just a little proud when he made her smile at his outlandish claim about being Buck Rogers from the 21st century. Just as he had chosen which wire to clip, Kate suddenly screamed when without warning, Wyatt was attacked by one of Flynn's hired guns. After a brutal struggle, Wyatt was grateful when Kate finally thumped the killer with a cast iron skillet and knocked him out cold. He scrambled back to the bomb and disarmed it with mere seconds left on the countdown before the airship dropped sharply and began to fall. " _Lucy and Rufus must have been successful_ ," Wyatt thought fleetingly in relief just as he and Kate barely escaped by jumping out a window that he broke before the Hindenburg hit the ground.

After Wyatt led the reporter to safety, he left her in the nearby hangar, and she stared at him uncomprehendingly when he told her to "have a nice life" before taking off to find his teammates. He was alarmed to catch sight of Lucy and Garcia Flynn starkly silhouetted against the burning hulk of the fallen airship's mainframe. Approaching cautiously with his gun drawn, Wyatt heard Lucy try to reason with the tall, dark-haired man, but once he noticed Wyatt, Flynn seized Lucy roughly and hid behind her slender body. To his faint astonishment, Lucy stilled and didn't struggle against the terrorist, but looked calmly and trustingly with wide eyes at Wyatt as he fixed his stance carefully, and in a low, clear voice, bravely instructed him, "Take the shot, Wyatt," as Flynn brutally tightened his hold on her.

"Let her go, Flynn," he ordered, as the other man sneered and shouted, "Dr. Wyatt Logan, at last we meet." Wyatt frowned and replied, "I don't know you, Flynn, and I don't care to. Let Agent Preston go, or I will put you down," and meeting Lucy's dark eyes one last time, clicked the safety off. But apparently, the other man wasn't quite done yet. "I'm curious, Dr. Logan, did they tell you why you were selected for this particular mission? Weren't you the least bit interested? When you return to 2016, be sure and ask them about Rittenhouse." When Wyatt chanced a fleeting glance at Lucy, she seemed as uncertain as he by Flynn's words. Deciding enough was enough, and after deliberately slowing down his breathing, Wyatt sent Lucy a pleading look that preemptively begged her forgiveness and competently squeezed off the shot, nicking Flynn's right shoulder as he flung Lucy cruelly away, but not before returning fire.

Ducking instinctively, Wyatt heard an odd muffled sound behind him, and turning around, to his horror, saw that, although the bullet Flynn aimed at him had missed, it had hit the unseen Kate Drummond squarely in the chest. The look of bewildered surprise on the pretty journalist's face as she fell limply to the ground was something Wyatt would remember for the rest of his life, especially since he knew the fatal shot had been meant for him. Lucy ran over to him as he sank to his knees and cradled Kate's body in his arms, and then she asked desperately, "Do you have her?" before running off after Flynn. Wyatt had seen more than his fair share of death during his years in Syria and Afghanistan, and at the ominous sight of blood trickling from Kate's lips, he knew she would not survive this disaster after all.

As he continued to try and ease the blonde writer's suffering during her final moments, a shaken Wyatt suddenly felt the warmth of Lucy pressed against his side as she tremulously whispered, "Wyatt, she's gone," and dazed, he looked up to see a shocked Rufus standing beside them. "Wyatt, we need to go now," Lucy softly implored, casting a sorrowful look at the fallen reporter, and he felt her small hand pat his arm reassuringly as he tenderly placed Kate's body on the ground and covered her with his suit jacket. With one last, lingering look around, the team made their way through the chaotic crowds of people milling around to the front gates of the naval station, and were lucky enough to hitch a ride back to Tom's River from a kind elderly couple who were passing by. The bus ride back down the rural road was silent, and as word spread about the Hindenburg disaster at the airfield, the bus driver didn't even raise an eyebrow or offer any comment at their request to be left at the side of the deserted road at this time of night.

As they wearily trudged back to where the lifeboat was (hopefully) still hidden, Flynn's cryptic taunt to Wyatt kept circling around Lucy's brain ( _How did he know Wyatt's name and title?_ ). Lucy was more than a little disappointed that she had been unable to garner any kind of information from the terrorist at all. Granted, she'd had limited exposure to Garcia Flynn, but it was obvious to her that as a highly-skilled NSA operative, he would have been well-trained and quite aware of her attempts to "read" him. " _So much for my 'reputed' profiling skills_ ," Lucy mused bitterly, as she clumsily stumbled over a rock and Wyatt's large, warm hand caught her elbow and kept her from falling. Heat bloomed in her cheeks when he murmured, "Easy there, Agent," and lightly squeezed her arm before dropping his hand.

Lucy's stomach pitched uneasily at just the sight of the lifeboat sitting undisturbed amongst the gently swaying pine trees. Walking in front of her, Rufus exclaimed, "Finally!" and once the hatch was open, eagerly scrambled inside and began flipping switches and pushing buttons for the journey back to 2016. Lucy's tired feet slowed to a dawdle the closer she got now that she knew what to expect, and her dark brows drew together when Wyatt turned with a dimpled grin, and holding out his hand, said, "C'mon, Agent Preston, let's go home." Lucy straightened her shoulders and bit back a discouraged sigh as he helped her up and in the time machine. By the time Wyatt had leaned over and fastened Lucy's safety harness and then his own, her already white face grew even paler as Rufus hit the switch and the great metal rings on the outside of the lifeboat began to slowly grind to life. As before, Wyatt gallantly reached across to take Lucy's hand, and she gratefully clung tightly to him before slamming her eyes shut in dreaded anticipation of the stomach-churning jump, all the while aware of the warmth and security of Wyatt Logan's hand holding hers.

And then the skull-rattling shaking ended abruptly as the time machine landed with a dull, heavy thud. This time, Rufus immediately opened the hatch, and after they unbuckled their restraints, Wyatt pulled Lucy to her feet so she could stagger to the opening. As she silently eased out of the lifeboat followed by the other two, Lucy closed her eyes briefly, very thankful they had survived the insane mission. Agent Christopher was the first to reach them, with a jubilant Connor Mason, who was sporting a huge grin, close behind. The first words out of Lucy's mouth were, "We need a medic, Dr. Logan's got a nasty cut on his temple that needs looked at," as she struggled to stand upright. Lucy turned around to see Wyatt wave off the medic who ran down the platform steps. Annoyed, she requested crossly, "Dr. Logan, please let the man do his job and see to that cut," and when he stared at her in surprise, she winked. "Yes, Ma'am," he smirked in appreciation, and took a seat on the platform and let himself be tended to. An exhausted Lucy sank down beside him, and they both turned and watched in weary amusement as Rufus staggered up to the platform and practically fell into a chair.

Agent Christopher looked expectantly at the team, "Well, Agent Preston? What happened?" and listened intently as the three of them took turns reporting on the mission. The NSA agent was less than pleased, though, when Lucy admitted that Flynn had gotten the jump on her, and although Wyatt had successfully shot the terrorist, he had gotten away. "Begging your pardon, Ma'am, but we were flying by the seat of our pants on this trip, and damn lucky to get home in one piece," Wyatt insisted as Agent Christopher gazed soberly at each of them. After searching online for the Hindenburg disaster, Connor Mason read aloud an account of the incident from the computer screen, and Lucy's heart sank as she realized that they had inadvertently changed history after all. And when Wyatt had remembered to ask Agent Christopher about "Rittenhouse," the agent looked at them blankly and claimed she had no idea. The medic finished patching Wyatt up as the debriefing ended with Agent Christopher curtly reminding the team that they had all signed NDA's, and she would be in touch the next time Flynn took the mothership out.

As the exhausted trio stared incredulously at her and then each other, the agent cut off their nearly immediate protests and after advising them to get cleaned up before going home, she left the platform. Lucy sighed gloomily as Wyatt merely shrugged and followed her up the steps to the locker rooms. After a refreshing shower, Lucy was thrilled to put her own clothes back on, and slowly made her way outside where she was surprised to find the handsome professor apparently waiting for her. Secretly pleased that he had stuck around, and compelled by his shy grin, Lucy looked into those impossibly blue eyes, and confessed, "Wyatt, I misjudged you, and I'm sorry," and at his puzzled expression, took a deep breath and explained, "I was wrong to just assume that a great-looking college professor would be a liability on this mission. I couldn't have asked for a better teammate than you, Dr. Wyatt Logan. Thank you for everything."

She was amused at the faint blush spreading across his chiseled cheekbones, and waited patiently as he cleared his throat and informed her, "You know, I may have gotten the wrong impression when I first met you, too, so please don't feel you have to apologize. However, I just have one question, Agent Lucy Preston," and when she raised a dark eyebrow, asked, "You think I'm great looking?" Now she was the one who turned a lovely crimson, and directed a weak glare at Wyatt when he snickered at her discomfort. When Wyatt remembered he had been picked up and brought to Mason Industries and needed transportation, Lucy immediately insisted on offering him a ride. They chatted easily on the short drive to Wyatt's apartment, and after thanking her again, he wished Lucy good night. Lucy sighed wistfully as she watched him walk away, and wondered if she would ever see the attractive ( _in so many ways_ ) professor again.

 _A/N #2: And that's the end of their first mission together, the FBI profiler and the college history professor. It was really fun deciding how to turn things around from the way the events happened in the pilot, and I'm already working on some neat surprises for the next chapter. Thank you to everyone who follows, favorites, and especially takes the time to review any of my stories. It's really encouraging to receive feedback, and certainly very much appreciated :))_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Standing in the doorway of the large, expensively-equipped fitness room at Mason Industries, Wyatt silently watched with ill-disguised interest as the young woman tried her best to decimate the stubbornly unyielding punching bag. He couldn't explain it, and while he really did still care for and miss his ex-wife, there was just something about FBI Special Agent Lucy Preston that intrigued him. Wyatt admired her lithe, toned form in snug black leggings and cropped tank top, very slender but gently curved in all the appropriate places, as she alternated between quick, lethal jabs and long-legged kicks in an apparent effort to work through whatever was bothering her. And, he thought ruefully, that might just be a pretty long list, starting with the whole " _time travel is real_ " mission they had returned from just hours ago.

After Lucy had dropped him off at his apartment and driven away, Wyatt had barely gotten inside and locked the door behind him when his phone rang with an unknown number. It had been Denise Christopher, tersely informing him that Flynn had taken the mothership out again, and right before ending the call, she thoughtfully added that it might be a good idea to keep some extra clothes in a locker at Mason for this very contingency. Wyatt sighed in resignation, and assured the agent he would be there in twenty. After taking a few extra minutes to pack a duffle bag, he had hurried back to the facility, filled with an odd mix of anticipation and muted dread.

Sitting around the conference room table moments later during the hastily-assembled briefing, the team was furnished with scant details about the new mission beyond the date and place. Without thinking, Wyatt had exclaimed, "That has to be the assassination of Abraham Lincoln," and his face began to warm when he realized every eye in the room was now trained on him. Across the table, Lucy looked troubled as he began to tentatively posit several possible outcomes, none good, if Garcia Flynn was able to interfere with or prevent the death of the sixteenth President. After discussing several strategies, they were dismissed, with Connor Mason reminding everyone that the lifeboat would take at least four hours to recharge, and since it had only been a little over an hour since they had returned from the first mission, that meant the three of them had some time to kill. Wyatt noticed Rufus quickly followed his boss from the room, probably eager to get back in front of a computer, even for only a little while, and turned around to see an unhappy Lucy huddled with a stern Denise Christopher at the other end of the table for a brief, tense conversation before the younger woman abruptly walked out. He raised a dark eyebrow at the NSA agent, who shook her head before mentioning that if he was interested, Connor Mason had informed her that Mason Industries had a big, state-of-the-art fitness area for its employees.

Luckily, he had packed something half-way suitable for a workout, and after quickly changing, found his way to the fitness room where he now stood, vaguely unwilling to disturb a clearly focused Lucy until she stopped suddenly, panting lightly before swiping at her moist forehead and pushing back a few wayward strands of dark wavy hair that had slipped loose from her topknot. "Are you going to just stand there gawking at me, or are you coming inside?" she demanded in a querulous voice, finally turning annoyed doe eyes on him. Wyatt blushed slightly at being caught staring at her, and clearing his throat awkwardly, offered, "Uh, coming inside? To work out, I mean," and felt better when Lucy decided to take pity on him, and merely shrugged at his lame indecision before leaning down and snagging a bottle of water and downing half of it. He watched in fascination as a couple droplets of water escaped her mouth and slowly traced a path down her long, elegant neck. "Again with the gawking there, Dr. Logan," she lightly scolded, and after she set down the water and scrubbed at her face with a small towel, looked him over, and apparently came to a decision.

"You look to be in pretty good shape, Professor, what say we spar a few rounds? You up for it?" and smirked knowingly when Wyatt finally found his mojo and responded, "I think you'll find I'm always up for it, Agent," and Lucy's dark eyes lit up at the challenge. "Let's do this, then," and for the next thirty minutes, he and the surprisingly agile FBI agent ducked, feinted, and grappled until finally, both were lying side by side on their backs, chests heaving, trying to catch their breath. Wyatt grudgingly marveled that although he must outweigh Lucy by at least 60 pounds or more, she fiercely gave no quarter, and it took everything he had just to keep from being knocked on his ass. Closing his eyes, he took a slow, cleansing breath, and said, "Listen, I know it's none of my business, and we just met a day ago, but it seems like you've got something on your mind. And, if you want to talk about it, that's okay with me."

Lucy sighed deeply, and rolling over, sat up, and putting her hands over her eyes, mumbled something indecipherable. Wyatt's brows drew together as he opened his eyes and also sat up, leaning towards Lucy as he asked in his best teacher's voice, "Can you repeat that please, Agent Preston? You were mumbling," and bit back a grin when she took her hands from her face and scowled blackly at him. "I said, this is all _my_ fault," she confessed before suddenly developing a keen interest in her shoelaces. Taken aback by her statement, after a moment, Wyatt responded dryly, "I'm afraid I don't follow. How in the world is an ex-NSA psycho running amuck through history with some crazy mysterious agenda, killing indiscriminately I might add, _your_ fault?" And likely risking possible physical injury, he gently rested a warm hand on her arm and waited until she met his eyes.

"Wyatt, I was standing two feet away from Garcia Flynn with a loaded gun in my coat pocket, and instead of putting him down like a rabid dog, or at the very least, somehow taking him into custody, or hell, really just anything to stop him, I completely ignored my FBI training and experience, and let my brain slip into profiling mode." She laughed bitterly, "If any of my T.I.'s at Quantico had seen me pull a stunt like that, they would have kicked my ass into next week. Thank God Agent Christopher insisted on loaning you one of her service weapons, or he could have killed me and possibly you and Rufus," and Wyatt was bothered by the self doubt he saw haunting her eyes.

He inhaled slowly and took a chance with this woman he'd known for less than two days. "Was this what you were discussing with Agent Christopher after the meeting? Is that what this is about? Lucy, all due respect, she wasn't there, and has no idea what it was like for the three of us. Here's the thing, over the years, I've read several accounts of the Hindenburg tragedy, and nothing could have prepared us for what it was actually like to experience something like that first hand." Confident now that he had her undivided attention, Wyatt continued earnestly, "Lucy, even if we remove the whole 'going back in time 80 years' mind bender from the equation, the actual crash itself was horrific and frightening, and I think you handled yourself pretty damn well." He was pleased at the shy smile Lucy gave him before she quietly murmured, "Thank you, Professor, I feel a little better now," and now she was the one blushing at the intent way he was gazing at her.

Springing gracefully to her feet, Lucy stretched (her stomach fluttering at the way Wyatt's dark blue eyes very discreetly ran up and down her body) and groaning slightly as she rolled her neck, remarked, "Well, if we're headed for 1865, there's probably a damned corset and hooped skirt waiting for me in the women's locker room," and offering him a hand, easily pulled Wyatt to his feet and teased, "Save me a seat, would you, Professor, if you're ready before me," and snickered when he solemnly put a hand over his heart and swore he would. Wyatt didn't even try to hide the fact that he was watching Lucy walk away, and he thought (hoped) she wasn't too offended, especially when she paused in the doorway, and glancing over her shoulder at him, merely asked, "You coming, Dr. Logan?" and Wyatt obediently followed the pretty agent to the locker rooms.

Wyatt emerged from a quick shower a little while later to find a pensive Rufus sitting on a bench dressed in what looked like a Civil War uniform before noticing another uniform hanging on his locker. "Hey, Rufus, how's it going?" he asked the pilot, who turned his back respectfully as Wyatt dropped the towel around his waist and after pulling on a pair of his own boxer briefs, began to dress in the itchy wool costume, wrinkling his nose at musty smell seeping from the material. "Ugh, where did they find these uniforms? They smell like an old leaky basement," he complained as Rufus nodded glumly in agreement, "I think from some local Civil War reenacter group," and grinned when Wyatt snarked that he thought the uniforms reeked of sweat and loneliness. Grimacing as he threw the discolored, long-sleeved, linen blouse over his head before buttoning up the navy wool jacket, he sat down to put on his own boots ( _no way in hell he was wearing someone else's boots_ ).

Finally dressed, Wyatt looked over at Rufus and asked, "Hey, are you okay?" The pilot shrugged and replied, "No, not really, because I can't help but think about the possibility of Flynn or one of us changing something in the past, even accidentally, where we might come back to a different present, but what can we do about it? I don't want to come back and not have my mom or little brother. Not to mention the fact that things got a little physical on our first mission, which is not great for me because between your time in the Army and Lucy being an FBI agent, at least the two of you have some training and experience with self-defense and guns and stuff, but me, I'm just a lonely computer nerd who's gotten roped into risking my life God knows how often or for how long in other time periods." He sighed, "So, Wyatt, I guess I'm not okay, but thanks for letting me vent," and looked at Wyatt doubtfully when his takeaway from Rufus' response was, "What, decent guy like you with a great job, and you don't have a girlfriend?"

Clearing his throat loudly, Rufus admitted there was this one co-worker here at Mason that he really liked, although he hadn't gotten up the courage yet to speak more than a few words to her. Wyatt paused for a moment, and then his face lit up with comprehension as he asked, "Let me guess, is she the very pretty girl with the big brown eyes and long dark hair? Sits at one of the computers out by the platform? What was her name again, Leah?" and smirked when Rufus instantly corrected him, "Jiya...her name is Jiya, and I think maybe, she might like me too, 'cause she smiles at me sometimes, but what if I'm wrong, and she's not really interested, and I come off as some kind of creepy dude who can't take a hint..." and at the other man's genuine distress, Wyatt relented, and suggested, "Why don't you just take it slow? You probably heard me tell Lucy that I'm divorced, so, yeah, I guess I'm no expert at women or anything, but, hey, I _was_ married for over seven years. So, here's my unsolicited advice: the next time you see this Jiya, just smile and say, 'hi, how's it going?' and just kind of build on her response. And be sure to make eye contact 'cause women really seem to like that in a guy," and standing up, clapped Rufus on the back and said cheerfully, "Okay, Romeo, we better get out there before Agent Preston gets her hoop skirt in a bunch," and both men chuckled at the thought. As they walked out of the locker room, it occurred to a bemused Wyatt that maybe in addition to team historian and security backup, he could also now be considered team counselor?

In spite of his prediction, he and Rufus were already inside the lifeboat, chatting casually while Rufus began flipping a multitude of switches to start the departure process, when he heard Lucy's voice call to him from outside the hatch, "Wyatt, can you give me a hand?" and sticking his head out the open hatch, fought to suppress his amusement at the sight of the disgruntled agent who was indeed wearing a hooped skirt, most definitely a corset, and, wait, was that a bonnet on her head? Judging by the irate glare she directed at him, he wasn't entirely successful. "Dr. Logan, if you are in any way, shape, or form entertained by my costume, we are going to have words, do you hear me?" and Wyatt hastily replied respectfully, "Yes, Ma'am," before manfully wiping any trace of emotion from his face, and extending his hand, attempted to pull Lucy and her voluminous skirt through the hatch.

He might have been a little too forceful, though, when her momentum pushed Wyatt clear back into his seat with a blushing, wide-eyed Lucy practically laying on top of him while Rufus choked on a snort. As she breathlessly apologized, Wyatt grinned, and assured her it was fine, no harm, no foul, and keeping his thoughts to himself ( _damn, she smelled really good, and actually looks pretty cute in that bonnet_ ), helped Lucy get settled in her seat before instinctively reaching over and buckling her safety harness. He couldn't help but notice that her slim fingers, wearing lacy little fingerless gloves, twitched nervously, and without a word, reached across and took one of her small hands in his just as Rufus hit the last button.

Trying to slow down her breathing ( _stupid corset_ ), Lucy watched as his strong hands deftly secured her safety restraints. She despised her claustrophobia, had always shamefully viewed it somehow as a hidden character flaw, but in this case, had to admit that she secretly liked the feel of the professor's large hand holding firmly onto hers. Wyatt Logan really seemed to be a genuinely nice man, very intelligent, with a good sense of humor, and pretty damn easy on the eyes, too ( _His ex-wife must be crazy to walk away from a guy like him_ ). Aware of an inherent vulnerability as one of few women in her field of expertise, since becoming an FBI Special Agent, Lucy had made it a hard and fast rule never to date a co-worker.

While at the Academy, she had heard plenty of horror stories about fellow agents dating each other, and then when the relationship fell apart (and they _always_ fell apart), how excruciatingly awkward it was to still have to work with the other person. Truth be told, Lucy rarely dated. For one thing, her career kept her pretty busy working long hours, including most weekends and holidays, and for another, as soon as a guy found out what she did for a living, she usually got one of two common reactions: either disgust towards a job that often had her trying to get inside the head of mentally deranged individuals, or even worse, someone who got off on it ( _Ewww_ ). But, thankfully, she sensed Dr. Logan, with his Army service and experience, had possibly seen and done some pretty horrific things himself, and therefore, might actually understand a little about Lucy's career. Of course, she just met him, and by his own admission, he was newly divorced, not to mention that this was undoubtedly a bizarre set of circumstances they had gotten involved in. But so far, the more time she spent with the professor, the better she liked him. And then her mind went mercifully blank as the lifeboat roared to life and jumped back to 1865.

The lifeboat's giant metal rings whined in protest as they slowly came to a stop after another (successful) heavy landing. Inside, Wyatt inhaled slowly and unsnapping his safety restraint, swallowed hard in an attempt to keep from losing the granola bar and apple he had gulped down while he and Rufus were waiting for Lucy to finish dressing, and whispered to no one in particular, "Someone please tell me this feeling gets better in time." Lucy opened one eye blearily, and grumbled, "At least both of you can take a deep breath because you're not wearing a corset," and her cheeks pinked becomingly when she noticed that Wyatt's gaze involuntarily dropped to her chest before he averted his gaze and reached over to quickly unbuckle her safety harness. Rufus shook his head in resignation and said, "Nope, pretty sure it's always gonna be like that," and smacking the button to open the hatch, turned around and asked, "What is that?" and the other two leaned out of their seats and watched the late night sky explode in a profusion of bright, shimmering streaks of color.

"It's fireworks. Washington, D.C., is celebrating the end of the Civil War," Wyatt explained. "The festivities went on day and night for several days after Robert E. Lee surrendered, at least until the President was assassinated..." and his voice trailed off sadly as the others looked at him. Lucy patted his arm sympathetically and said, "Guys, we better get going. It's probably a couple of hours yet before dawn, but we have a ways to walk, and I'd like to get into town by daylight," and the two men nodded in agreement. As they trudged along the dusty, rutted road, they were passed by horse-drawn wagons and carriages and numerous riders on horseback. Wyatt's feelings were all over the place. On the one hand, the team had jumped back in time even farther for this second mission, over 150 years, and it was every bit as exciting as the first time. However, he knew that as horrendous as it was to contemplate, Abraham Lincoln _was_ destined to die that evening, and he had a sinking feeling that the other two, especially Rufus, might be harboring a secret desire to save the doomed President. Wyatt could tell they were unhappy with his admonishment that in light of the possible ramifications, nothing could interfere with the natural progression of history, but they reluctantly agreed with him.

As they finally reached the outskirts of D.C., Lucy asked, "Wyatt, what do you suggest?" effectively interrupting his musings, and after he remembered it was said that John Wilkes Booth retrieved his mail from Ford's theater every morning at 10:00, Lucy theorized it was likely that if they found Booth, Flynn might possibly be with him, so she and Wyatt would wait at the theater in hopes of intercepting the actor while Rufus kept watch across the street. After entering the theater, the two of them split up, and Wyatt offered to check out the back stage area while she would wait in the front near the mail cubbies to see if Booth would indeed show up. Lucy quickly found the actor's name under one of the slots, and hastily rifled through the envelopes, but found nothing of interest. Hearing footsteps, she stuffed the mail back onto the shelf just in time to see a very tall, distinguished young man wearing a Union Army uniform enter the front office. After a brief conversation, she was shocked when the man introduced himself as Robert Todd Lincoln, the President's son. Lucy felt burdened down by the knowledge that in a matter of hours, not only would the United States lose their leader, this man would lose his beloved father. However, she remembered Wyatt's warning, and after exchanging pleasantries, Lucy bid Captain Lincoln a good day and went in search of Wyatt.

He was waiting impatiently for her at the theater entrance, and after they met up with Rufus, Wyatt had caught sight of Booth, and the team quickly followed the actor/would-be assassin down the street and into a narrow alley. They crept along, when suddenly, Lucy caught a glimpse of Flynn walking past an open window in a nearby boarding house. Unfortunately, before they could duck out of sight, the terrorist spotted them and began shooting into the alley. Lucy and Wyatt both quickly pulled out their guns and immediately started firing back while urging Rufus to take shelter in a doorway. Wyatt was horrified to see Lucy creeping closer and closer to the building, and hissed, "Lucy, get back here, you're too close," and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Flynn take careful aim in her direction, and instinctively lunged towards her, throwing her down on the ground and landing on top of her as a bright, searing pain flashed and burned across his side. With a grunt of pain, Wyatt dropped all the way down, covering her body, as he held his side with one hand and bravely returned fire with the other. Underneath him, Lucy screamed, "Wyatt! Are you all right? Are you hit?" And then without waiting for his reply, she scrambled out from under him, grabbed the gun from his suddenly limp fingers and began firing both of their weapons one after the other, while yelling at Rufus to help Wyatt get up while she covered them.

A few agonizing minutes later, Wyatt managed to stay calm and upright long enough for he and Lucy to check into a hotel (as brother and sister) while, at Lucy's direction, Rufus went to retrieve first aid supplies. Lucy generously tipped the bell hop who escorted them to a room, and swiftly closed the door before the young man could ask too many questions. Wyatt collapsed on the one of the beds as Lucy helped him remove his uniform jacket, and she tried not to flinch at the bright red circle of blood blooming on his linen shirt. Coaxing him to raise his arms, she eased the ruined shirt up and over his head, whispering an apology when he groaned at the effort. Wyatt carefully stretched out on the bed, grateful for Lucy's assistance ( _Jesus, I had forgotten just how much getting shot hurts_ ) before he managed to pull a pocketknife out of his pants and hand it to her. Just then Rufus rushed into the room, his arm full of the supplies. His eyes widened in shock at the raw, bloody hole in Wyatt's side, and he glanced away before cautiously setting everything down on the dresser and asking Lucy what she needed him to do.

With gentle fingers, Lucy delicately examined the wounded area on Wyatt's torso, murmuring another apology when he unwillingly groaned. "The bullet is just below the surface and has to come out or he could die from sepsis before we make it home," she grimly pronounced, and Rufus nodded stoically when Lucy requested that he hold Wyatt down while she removed the bullet. Wyatt was starting to get dizzy from the pain and blood loss, and slurring his words slightly, entreated, "I'll be good, Agent Lucy, please don't make Rufus hold me down," and the distress on his face nearly broke her heart. Smoothing the rumpled hair back from his sweaty forehead, Lucy urged Wyatt to swallow a few gulps of the whiskey Rufus had procured. His dark blue eyes were starting to glaze over, and he eagerly drank the alcohol in hopes it would dull what was sure to be agonizing pain, no matter how carefully Lucy worked to remove the bullet.

Once his panicked breathing slowed and he began to quiet, Lucy moved over to the dresser and washed her hands carefully in the basin of water while Rufus poured whiskey over the pocketknife to crudely sterilize it. Although she was well-trained in first aid, especially triage, and re-certified on an annual basis, this was the real deal, and despite her best efforts, Lucy's hands shook slightly as she painstakingly probed Wyatt's damaged flesh for the bullet. He bravely endured the pain in silence, but once she was able to locate and extract the bullet, Wyatt's eyes rolled back in his head and he mercifully passed out. A grateful Lucy liberally splashed the remainder of the whisky in and around the wound before closing it with small, precise stitches. While Rufus gathered up the supplies and put them on the dresser, she managed to clean all the blood from his body and tuck Wyatt under the covers with a cool cloth on his forehead before sinking into a chair in a corner of the room, and putting her head in her hands, Lucy wept quietly in relief.

The mid-afternoon sun was lazily streaming through the windows when Wyatt opened his eyes. He moved without thinking, and winced at the sharp pain that throbbed in his side. At his involuntary gasp, Lucy turned from the window and sitting on the side of the bed, put a soft hand on his cheek and asked him how he felt ( _much better when you're touching me_ ), and he answered in a gravelly voice that he was fine and was somewhat put out at the definitely skeptical expression on her face. "Well, I feel better than I did a few hours ago," he retorted rather petulantly, and Wyatt could see her trying not to smile at his pissy response. In a weak attempt to divert her attention from his condition, he asked, "What's the plan, Agent?" and was relieved when Lucy began to fill him in on what she and Rufus had come up with. It could work, he thought, he just wished he wasn't injured, but it couldn't be helped. The team needed all hands on deck if they had even a hope of thwarting Flynn's plans.

Lucy left Wyatt in Rufus' capable hands and made her way to the train station. Wyatt had told her that General Grant was supposed to be on the evening train to Philadelphia, and if possible, she wanted to find out if he had purchased a ticket or not. Surprisingly, she ran into Robert Todd Lincoln, and was taken aback when he impulsively invited her to the theater this evening with his parents, and (unfortunately) General Grant and his wife. Lucy's mind raced as she gazed up at the young Captain, and quickly coming to the conclusion this might be her only chance to save the General, she agreed. After he gallantly kissed her hand, he bid Lucy farewell with a promise to pick her up at the hotel at 7:00. Absently thinking she would have to find a proper evening dress to wear to the theater, Lucy was startled when a handsomely-dressed Garcia Flynn sprang at her from a deserted corner of the train station. She instinctively reached for her service weapon, and was dismayed to realize she had left it on the dresser at the hotel.

He grabbed her wrist roughly, and mockingly advised, "Agent Preston, you really need to stay out of my way. How's Dr. Logan? Did you manage to dig my bullet out of his gut? The bullet that was meant for you, I might add," and Lucy struggled to free herself without drawing attention to them. Who knew how many innocents Flynn would kill if someone dared and try to help her. "You bastard," she snarled at him, and was shocked when he laughed. "If you and your fellow time travelers want to stay alive, you need to stop interfering with my plans. I won't be generous enough to warn you again," and with that, he bowed courteously and walked away, leaving a puzzled and frustrated Lucy glaring after him.

By the time Lucy returned to the hotel room, it was already after 5:00. In addition to buying a dress, she had brought sandwiches and ale with her, and was pleased to see Wyatt sitting in a chair, pale, but composed. While they ate, Lucy told them about her encounter with Flynn, and felt the tiniest thrill at Wyatt's angry, protective reaction. "Lucy, what were you thinking? Rufus found your gun on the dresser, and you were accosted by Flynn in public while you were defenseless. He could have killed you," and Rufus raised his eyebrows at Wyatt's tone while Lucy apologized for worrying them. He sat sullenly, quietly eating a few bites of supper while she got dressed, fortunately without needing any help.

When Lucy came out from behind the dressing screen, Wyatt merely smiled at her appearance, although he thought she looked beautiful. For a woman born in the 20th century, Lucy was made for vintage clothing, and the evening gown was very flattering. There was a knock at the door from the bell hop announcing that Captain Lincoln was downstairs waiting. She anxiously smoothed down the full skirt, and after the trio confirmed their assignments, grabbed a delicate shawl and hurried from the room. The two men watched her leave, and when the pilot asked Wyatt if they had a snowball's chance in hell of pulling this off, he shrugged painfully, and confirmed that they had no choice, they had to succeed.

The next couple of hours passed in a daze for Lucy. She was nearly incoherent with conflicting emotions. It was all but overwhelming to be in the presence of President and Mrs. Lincoln, and General Ulysses S. Grant, but knowing what was to come was making her a nervous wreck. Finally, the door to the theater box opened, but instead of John Wilkes Booth, it was a hard-faced Flynn holding a gun. He looked surprised and very angry to see her, and as Lucy was struggling to pull her own weapon out of her small bag, after knocking young Captain Lincoln out cold, without hesitation, he aimed for and shot the great leader in the back of the head. Lucy screamed, and when Flynn pointed the gun at General Grant, she leaped at him and managed to shove his arm in the air, thereby saving Grant's life. After a brief scuffle, Flynn jumped out of the box down onto the stage and got away.

In the aftermath, Lucy was joined on the street in front of the theater by Rufus and a still pale Wyatt. They had been able to save the lives of Vice President Johnson and Secretary of State Seward, and once it was confirmed the President was dead, the three of them knew they had done all they possibly could, and wordlessly made the long trek back to the lifeboat. Grimacing in pain, Wyatt fastened Lucy's restraints in spite of her vehement protests before buckling himself in. During the jump, Wyatt came close to passing out, and once they landed and Rufus quickly opened the hatch, he practically fell from the lifeboat while Lucy yelled for a medic. Despite Agent Christopher's request for a mission report, she insisted on accompanying him to the medical wing, and once she knew he would be all right, left him sleeping while she changed out of her blood-stained dress and took a hot shower. When she went to check on Wyatt, Lucy found Rufus asleep in a chair beside the bed. Pausing in the doorway, she smiled for the first time all day. The doctor had assured her that Wyatt would make a full recovery and complimented her on the condition of his wound, and looking at the two men sleeping, she thought with satisfaction, they were her teammates, and just maybe, her new friends.

 _A/N: This story theme has been really challenging so far, but also a lot of fun to write. Special thanks to Pecos Bill for your review (I tried to make Lucy a little bit of a bad ass in this chapter, lol). My sincere thanks to everyone who's following and favoriting this and all of my fics, especially those of you who are kind enough to leave a review. It's much appreciated! :)_


End file.
